


A Bit of His Own

by ahlewis32



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Light Bondage, Minor Violence, Oral Sex, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:34:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahlewis32/pseuds/ahlewis32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zevran meets the woman of his dreams in the most unexpected and unusual way.</p><p>NOTE:  This contains a possible trigger for sexual violence. If you need help, please seek it. I care about you!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit of His Own

**Author's Note:**

> Zevran is a character that I have a lot of trouble relating to. I've used him as a secondary character but have never based a story on him. A dear friend challenged me to base a story on him so here's my first attempt at Zevran as main character. Enjoy!

It was one of those days Zevran still wished he was in Antiva; warm sun, fragrant flowers, willing women, all making for a more desirable time than the one he was having. The Dalish elves were known for their hospitality, even more so now that they had their own homeland and Zevran smiled at the thought of who was waiting for him there. Sabina was definitely worth his time.  
Instead of the warmth of Sabina or even a fire in his palace quarters or the keep, Zevran found himself knee deep in mud and muck, traveling the much used but rarely repaired Imperial Highway to Ostagar. He shook his head and huddled deeper into his cloak, quickening his pace. “Whatever I did to deserve this,” he said aloud, “at least it’s not raining.”  
He gauged the sun, knowing that it would soon set and he would have to find shelter soon. Alistair had told him of a barn in the area that was suitable for shelter, warm and dry. He searched the area, finally locating the dilapidated structure. Zevran groaned at the prospect of staying in the ancient structure, but it was the only shelter to be had.  
Inside he found piles of old hay, musty but useable as a sleeping place. A former guest had left some wood and a fire pit and he had managed to gather more wood for later. He quickly made a fire and managed to warm himself enough to find some comfort. He pulled out some meat, cheese and bread and made a sandwich, washing it down with some ale. He couldn’t help but think of the nice fire and food he had passed up to make this trip, but the reward for it all was the warmth of Sabina’s arms. With thoughts of her on his mind, he banked his fire and bedded down for the night.  
Zevran didn’t know how long he had lain there, oblivious to everything around him. It wasn’t like him to be so careless; safety first was his motto, and often his mantra. He shouldn’t have been surprised to wake to eight inches of cold steel blade pressed against his throat.  
Several things crossed his mind at the same time: he would be late for his rendezvous with Sabina, he hadn’t been shrived in the chantry as was his custom before any job, and he really wanted to know who his future killer was and why because whoever they were, they smelled heavenly.  
“Keep your hands where I can see them, please,” spoke an unexpectedly feminine voice. Zevran wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or shocked.  
“As you wish, my dear,” he replied, trying to get a better look at his assailant. “Might I first know what your intentions are?”  
The dagger at his throat suddenly pressed harder against his throat and he swallowed slightly. “I would think that it was quite obvious,” was the sarcastic answer.  
“Oh, you are indeed correct there, my dear. I do know what the dagger at my throat is intended for. What I don’t know is why.”  
“An assassin such as you should be able to fill in the blanks fairly accurately I would think; makes my job much easier.” The dagger pressed a little harder against his throat.  
Zevran knew he had her there. The angle of the blade had changed, and it would require a complicated flick of her wrist to accomplish a clean death. It was a maneuver he was sure she was capable of but didn’t wait to find out.  
Executing a practiced and considerably desperate move, his hands rose quickly, seized her arms and pulled her hand away from his throat. There was a noticeable sound of air being released from her lungs as he quickly shoved her to the side, coming over her and straddling her hips, the dagger flying out of her hand as she gasped for breath. Zevran put both her wrists into one of his hands, holding them pinned to her chest, and began to unbuckle her belt and unthread it from her breeches. Setting the belt down beside her, he raised up just enough to roll her over onto her stomach, bringing her hands behind her. He used the belt to tie her wrists together tightly, then stood up and pulled her up with him.  
Zevran held onto her wrists as he drew his dagger, and holding her back against his chest, brought it to rest upon her throat. From his new position he was able to get a better view of his attacker. She was young and elven, with long dark brown hair and greenish gold eyes. He had never seen anyone as beautiful. He leaned in to her neck, taking in her scent. “Now, sweet, tell me who and why,” he whispered.  
She knew escape would be next to impossible; he was that good. “I don’t know who and you already know why, I assume.”  
Zevran did know, but he had thought the loose ends all tied. “So who is your contact?”  
“My master,” she replied.  
“Master? You are a Crow?” he asked, surprised.  
She shook her head, “No.”  
“Then what are you? Free-lance or affiliated?”  
“Bardic.”  
Zevran’s eyes grew wider at the word. He knew of the Orlesian Bards, Leliana had told him one night by the fire in camp. They were beautiful, talented and deadly assassins and spies worth their weight in gold. Somehow he felt flattered. “So how did you get the job?”  
“A messenger told me to go to a secluded spot where the instructions were hidden; the mark, cost, and location,” she answered, sweat beginning to drip down her face as he held her.  
Zevran felt the dampness on his hand grow, “Do you always receive your assignments this way?”  
She did not hesitate; there was no use, “No. This one was…different.” The knife at her neck lowered slightly and she swallowed.  
Suddenly the memories of years past assaulted him. A young assassin, shamed, forced to take a job outside of his homeland to redeem himself or die. “Why take this contract? There are no doubt others closer to home with higher rewards.”  
Her reply was soft and sad, “I had no choice.”  
He lowered the knife to his side, keeping a firm hand on her tied hands. There was no reason to believe anything she said, but his gut said she was telling the truth. “What will happen if you fail?” he asked.  
“I would die. My master has no use for a failure, he told me.”  
“Then you were given the job to redeem yourself?”  
“Or to die while trying,” she responded, her voice betraying her stress.  
The story was too familiar, the circumstances too similar, the woman too attractive, too alluring. He should slit her throat and toss her in the nearest ditch for the wolves, he knew. But this one was different, in more ways than he could fathom. She stared forward into the dark and he imagined the fear in her eyes; she knew she would die by his hand. He knew she wouldn’t, not now.  
“Please let me go,” she pleaded desperately. “I will go and you will never see me again.”  
His free hand moved around her body to her stomach and pulled her closer towards him. She gasped as she felt his erection against her behind. Zevran’s mouth was in her neck, sniffing at her hair, his breath hot against her skin. “What will you do to get me to release you, my sweet?” he whispered suggestively into her ear.  
She closed her eyes as the question flowed over her body. All the possibilities were flying through her mind and every fiber of her being said no. “Anything,” she answered, shaking with fear and desire.  
Zevran smiled into her hair. This would be worth more than a visit to Sabina. “Let us see, shall we?” She nodded slightly, her breath catching.  
His free hand slowly rose to her chest, cupping her breast firmly. A sharp intake of breath followed, and he smiled. His fingers stroked her through her shirt, bringing her nipple to a peak, and taking it between his fingers, pinching it, listening to her whimper of pleasure and pain. She whimpered louder as he repeated the action on her opposite breast, rubbing against her as he did.  
His hand worked down to the waistband of her breeches, grabbing her shirt and pulling it out, running his hand back up her stomach to her breasts, elated to find them unbound. She arched her back as he rubbed his groin against her, massaging and pinching her breasts. Her whimpers became moans and he allowed himself a groan. “Anything, sweet? We shall test that,” he promised her.  
The girl nodded, resigned to her fate as his hand slowly worked its way down to her breeches’ lacings, pulling them open with a practiced and quick yank, loosening the laces. His fingers gradually worked their way into her breeches front, caressing her skin as they traveled. Pushing aside her small clothes, he found her sex, smiling as he realized she was arching against him and spreading her thighs to allow him entry.  
His index finger traced the folds as she whimpered her desire, her small clothes already wet in anticipation. Zevran ran his finger back and forth over her folds, each time penetrating deeper, making her whimper for more. Finally he worked his way to the nub, flicking his nail over it, coaxing it to appear. The girl moaned loudly, shuddering and moving against his hardness. He laughed at her reaction, appreciating the result of his actions. It was no small seduction he practiced here.  
The ministrations of his fingers continued as she bucked into his hand. He released her tied hands and drew his dagger, holding it at her throat as he continued rubbing her sex. She cried out her satisfaction with his attentions, rubbing against his crotch while she moved against his hand. Just when she thought she would end up with her throat cut, she came into his hand, nearly screaming her satisfaction, listening to him groan in anticipation of his own.  
Zevran pulled the dagger away from her neck and sheathed it as she finished, fearing he would cut and blemish the marvelous woman’s skin. She slumped in his arms, panting hard, nearly spent and he was amazed at her response to his touch. He had nearly spilled himself without entering her, something he had never done. He was not done with her yet.  
Turning her around, he brought his mouth to hers, and she opened for him as they simulated the act they both desired. He was giddy with the power he had over her, she would not escape. “On your knees, my sweet,” he commanded. She was quick to obey.  
His hands went to his breeches, pulling at the laces, loosening them all the way and pulling them down with his small clothes, revealing himself to her. “Do you want me to let you go?” he asked.  
“Yes,” she answered, shaking in anticipation.  
“Show me how much.”  
She brought her mouth to the tip, licking and kissing it as he began to move his hips rhythmically, seeking release. His hands pressed on the back of her head, telling her what to do and she took him in her mouth, sucking him hard as she slowly took the whole of him. Alternating between sucking and massaging him with her mouth and working with her teeth, she bobbed up and down, listening to him as he panted and moaned.  
When he came it was like nothing he had ever experienced. She swallowed mouthful after mouthful of him until he was near collapse. He heard her laugh, a soft musical tone that thrilled him. Gaining control again, he reached down and pulled her up to his chest, wrapping his arm around her as he drew his dagger. Her eyes flew open as she heard the blade being drawn, knowing it was her end.  
He turned her around and with a flick of the blade, cut the belt that bound her hands, releasing her. His arms came back to his sides and he dropped the dagger to the ground. The girl looked at him, shocked and confused, rubbing her wrists. Zevran nodded she was free to leave if she wished.  
She stepped back a short step and looked him the eye, working out what had transpired between them. Something changed in her demeanor and she took the step towards him again, slowly bringing her hands to his shoulders, pulling closer to him, meeting his lips with hers. Zevran stood still for a moment as she took her time with him, finally bringing his arms around her and crushing her to him in a near bruising and demanding kiss.  
They couldn’t keep their hands off each other and wanted more. They tugged at each other’s shirts and breeches, pulling and tearing them off and shedding them, their mouths meeting whenever they could. They tumbled onto his pallet in the hay, roving over each other’s bodies with hands, fingers and mouths, searching and tasting. Zevran rolled her on her back and brought her legs up to encircle his waist as he entered her, crying out in triumph as she moaned and screamed. He pounded deep within her as she met his every stroke, and when the waves of ecstasy crested and broke, she rode with him as they called out to the Maker their thanks.  
Spent, he lay down by her side and took her in his arms, marveling at his luck in finding such a woman. “Where have you been all this time?” he asked her, and she laughed. The last thing he remembered was the feel of her in his arms and a happiness he had never known.  
Morning broke too soon for him, the cheerful sound of birds he’d long held as an annoyance sounding like music to his ears. He turned to his bed-mate only to find an empty spot where she had been, an indentation on the blanket.

*****

Zevran sheathed his daggers, indicating to the recruit the sparring was over. The young recruit saluted his master and departed, leaving Zevran alone in the practice room.  
His thoughts strayed as they had so often in the last weeks, to the dark haired bard with the greenish gold eyes and what they did with each other. The longing for her wouldn’t stop. Even the lovely Sabina, with all her charms had been unable to coax him out of his funk, finally giving up and leaving his bed for another. He had slept alone ever since.  
The day he returned from Ostagar, he had sent messages to his contacts in Denerim and elsewhere, asking if anything was known about an assassin looking for him. All the responses were negative. Even a letter to King Alistair was no joy. No one had been seen or had been looking for him since he left Denerim. Zevran knew she was gone for good; the one woman who was a match for him.  
After a late night in the hall playing cards with Oghren and Nathaniel, he retired to his quarters seeking something of a good night’s sleep. Thoughts of the bard were worse at night as she haunted his dreams; he wasn’t looking forward to another night alone. He entered his quarters and turned to the table by the door, seeking the flint and steel to light the lantern.  
The cold steel of a dagger was quickly pressed to his neck and he raised his arms in surrender. Anyone who could penetrate the security of the fortress deserved his admiration. It was difficult enough for the merchants to get in. Just as he thought his time was up, he heard the voice that had been haunting his dreams, “You really didn’t think I would let you go, did you?”  
“I had hoped you wouldn’t,” he replied.  
Zevran felt the hand that snaked around his waist and down to his groin, cupping his already hard self. “So you did,” she replied, softly massaging him through his breeches.  
He turned around slowly, his hands still up, until he faced her. She was even more beautiful than he remembered her. She lowered the dagger from his neck and he held out his hand, taking it and tossing it aside. Her hands reached over his shoulders and pulled the daggers from his sheaths and dropped them to the floor, then pulled the dagger from his belt and tossed it aside with hers.  
His hands went around her waist as he pulled her to him, “May I at least know who holds me captive?” he asked.  
“Adele” she replied.  
“Zevran.”  
“I know.”  
“Good. That saves a lot of time,” he said as he claimed her mouth.


End file.
